


Death's Door

by Batsymomma11



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 22:37:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15694752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: Batman is gravely injured and struggles to stay alive long enough to get help. In the midst of his pain, he sees a welcome ghost.





	Death's Door

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own DC or its characters.  
> Story is mine.  
> Feel free to comment and thanks for reading.  
> Enjoy!

           The pain was immense.

            Blood dripped from between his fingers, down his legs into the alabaster white of falling snow. He grimaced, catching his breath at the mouth of an alleyway, his blurry gaze recognizing the shapes of cars and their headlights in the darkness.

            The city hummed and whirred, alive and vibrant around him as his world began to haze around the edges. Each breath wheezed into lungs that didn’t want to work. Each beat of his heart pushed more precious blood into crimson splotched artwork.

            How many others had bled and died alone in this alley? How many others had he failed to save? Or would he fail to save because he was merely a man fighting a war that would never end?

            Bruce took a few more steps, bit his lip to stifle the groan of pain, then slipped on a patch of ice and hit the pavement hard. Pain screamed through his dislocated shoulder, his broken wrist and the hole in his stomach.

            God, he might die, right here. In another alley not more than a few blocks from where his parents had.

            Gasping for breath, Bruce blinked up into the flakes of snow that kept drearily making their way downwards. The sky was pale pink from the city lights even though it was close to two in the morning and it reminded him of childhood memories stolen in his backyard. Snow forts and snowmen big enough to look you eye level. His eyes slipped closed and he could hear his father’s laugh when he threw a wad of snow at his back. The powder had exploded like a fine mist.

            The air had been crisper than this. But it was close. It was very close to this.

            Bruce jerked awake and cried out when he tried to use the wrong arm to sit up. His wrist screamed in protest more than the shoulder. He needed to get to help. He needed to keep moving.

            “Don’t fall asleep Bruce,” he whispered through clenched teeth, that had begun to chatter.

            He made it another few hundred-foot, hobbling, clawing his way in the direction of the Batmobile. He could wait for Alfred there. He’d given those coordinates to him when he’d called for help. Hadn’t he? Dizziness made his thoughts so blurry, he couldn’t think past the fog.

            The sleek black edges of his car were just around the corner. He only had to keep moving.

            Slicked with sweat, Bruce made it around the corner and stared.

            Where was it?

            Blinking, exhausted, he couldn’t understand how he’d made such a fatal mistake.

            “Bruce?”

            Bruce looked over his shoulder, and found his father smiling at him. “Dad?”

            “What are you doing out so late? Shouldn’t you be in bed squirt?”

            “Dad, I—I don’t understand.”

            “You don’t need to son. It’s late. You should be home and in bed. Your mother will worry about you.”

            “But Dad,” Bruce weaved, hit the brick wall with a shoulder then blinked to clear his father’s image. It remained. And an ache blossomed beneath his breastbone that never really went away. “I’m sorry Dad.”

            “For what squirt?”

            “I—I failed. I’m dying. I won’t be able to do what I promised. I--.”

            “Shhh,” his father came close, blue eyes and mustache just the same as when Bruce had last seen him. Even the thick dress coat and dock martins. “You worry too much. You’ll be home before you know it.”

            “I don’t--.”

            “Bruce,” Thomas smiled, pressing their foreheads together. Tears flooded Bruce’s eyes clouding his vision. “Take a breath.”

            He blinked at those mirroring blue eyes and felt the tremble soul deep. “I-I can’t.”

            “Bruce, take a breath.”

            Bruce felt the shaking in his limbs, felt the blood draining at their feet, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of his father.

            “Breathe!”

            Bruce jolted with pain, gripping both hands on his father’s lapels, “Dad? I’m s-s-scared. I don’t understand. I’m dying. It hurts more than I thought it would.”

            “Breathe Bruce. Don’t be afraid Bruce.”

            His teeth were chattering too loudly for him to respond.

            “Breathe god damn it!”

            Blackness swarmed his vision, swallowing him whole. Then a white so bright it hurt to look up into it. Frightened, he reached for his father but found cool metal beneath him. No wool coat or polo aftershave.

            “Steady,” a voice spoke forcefully but it wasn’t Thomas Wayne. Where was his father?

            “Dad?”

            The voice drew closer and a face materialized in the light to match it. It took Bruce a handful of seconds to realize he knew the face at all.

            “Alfred.”

            “Master Bruce,” Alfred’s voice shook, as he reached with a blood covered hand to grip his shoulder. “You gave me quite a fright.”

            “I—where are we?”

            Alfred frowned, “In the Batcave med-bay. I’ve just finished performing minor surgery to save your life. Though you didn’t appear ready to keep it.”

            “What?”

            Alfred’s eyes filled with tears, “You tried to leave me.”

            Bruce gripped the hand on his shoulder and shook his head, “No Alfred. I didn’t.”

            He lifted a brow, “I lost your pulse.”

            “I died,” Bruce whispered the words, his throat wanting to snap closed. His father had been with him. He’d been close enough to touch him. Close enough to smell.

            “You tried to.”

            “It was you telling me to breathe.”

            They stared at each other, silence falling like the heavy wet snow that had nearly been his grave. A few tears fell from the old man’s eyes, “Yes, master Bruce. That was me.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Oh dear boy,” Alfred surprised them both by pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t let it happen again. Am I understood?”

            Bruce shook his head, becoming acutely aware of the pain he’d been blocking in increments. “You won’t be rid of me that fast, old man.”

            “I certainly hope not.”


End file.
